


Holistic Orphan Assassins

by scribblesandscreeds



Category: Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency (TV 2016), Orphan Black (TV)
Genre: Casual assassination, Fate, Gen, Holisticity, Mentions of pancakes, Oneshot, Shop Talk, yeah - Freeform, you tell me they're not the same
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-03
Updated: 2017-03-03
Packaged: 2018-09-28 00:31:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10059107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scribblesandscreeds/pseuds/scribblesandscreeds
Summary: A couple of badass, unhinged assassins share a moment.Only rated teen for a little strong language.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Are they in Seattle? Are they in Toronto? I don’t know, I just wanted them to meet.

“Hey.” Bart barked, which surprised her. But hey, whatever. The universe wanted her next victim to know she was coming, or something. “Hey, you.” 

Her next victim being, presumably, the only other person who was there. They were up on not quite the top floor of an unfinished building. It had floors and staircases, but no walls yet. It was ringed with security fences and an alarm system, but Bart needed to go there, so there was a gap in the fence and the alarm didn't go off. The universe had made sure the other person had fixed it that way. She didn't know who that was, of course. All she could really see across the far side of the floor was a dark heap of fabric with a smaller pale heap on top, and the barrel of a nice looking sniper rifle on a tripod sticking out in front of it.

“You cannot put your gun here.” The shadowy figure in the corner said, without turning her head. Huh. It was a woman. Who swallowed all her words as she said them. “This place is occupied.”

“How you know I got a gun, eh?”

“I hear it. It goes _clank clank clank_ while you walk.”

“Huh.” This was kinda weird. She still hadn't killed the woman with the rifle, even though she looked like she was about to kill someone herself. That should have meant that, like, Bart was being shown why she was gonna kill someone before she actually did it for once. But she didn’t even aim at her. “I don’t feel like I wanna kill you.”

“That is good.” The sniper drawled. She had a funny voice. She made _that_ sound like _thet_ , and _good_ almost had a T on the end. “I don’t feel like I want dying.”

Bart ambled over. The sniper had her eye to a telescopic sight, so all she could really see was a shock of white-blonde curls with roughly the consistency of sheepskin. If the sheep had really long wool. Curiosity getting the better of her, she asked

“Who you killing?”

“Someone who needs dying.” 

Bart shrugged.

“I can relate to that, you know? Say, you ever hear of a guy called Dirk Gently?”

“No. Shut up talking.” The sniper told her. Bart was so surprised to be told what to do - _don’t shoot what the fuck DON’T SHOOT ME_ not really counting - that she did it. For the first time, the sniper moved, tracking her target. She didn't move much, just enough to prove that she wasn't a dummy, until her frozen white finger squeezed on the trigger and a bullet zipped out of the gun. 

Apparently it found its target, because she flowed into rapid action, breaking down the rifle with a satisfied little smile on her pale lips. Across the street a balding man in his fifties leant against a wall, and slowly slid down it. The blood wouldn't puddle visibly around him for a while yet.

“Why’d you kill him?” Now it was professional curiosity. Bart sometimes found out why she’d killed someone, after she did it, but not always. She had no idea how other people chose who to kill.

“He was bad man.” Which sounded like _bed men_ when the gunwoman said it. “He was going to hurt babies.”

Bart swivelled on her toes, her pistol having never left her hand, and put a bullet between the eyes of the man who had been creeping up the bare concrete stairs behind them. He held his gun in one hand and braced it on the wrist of the other, levelled at the pair of them. He looked confused. It took him a long time to realise he was dead.

“Guess it was him.”

The other woman stared at the slowly falling body with her eyes momentarily wide in their dark sockets, then resumed packing her rifle away.

“How you knew he was there?”

“The universe always sends me to the place I'm supposed to be, you know? I always kill the right person.”

The sniper shouldered her duffel bag and faced her. 

“Holy shit.” Bart was being surprised a whole lot more than she was used to. They stood eye to eye, with equally wild if mismatched hair, wearing identical huge, green flak jackets and army surplus boots. Bart didn't have a rifle right now - one would come to her if she needed it - but she’d carried a bag like that more times than she could count. And she only ever usually saw a face that deathly pale in shiny surfaces, like windows just before they exploded, or whatever. “It’s like looking into a fucking mirror, or something.”

The crazy blonde twisted up the side of her mouth into a sort of smile. It looked like she’d practiced smiling nicely - or at least, in a way that wouldn’t make people run away screaming - a lot, but just couldn’t get the hang of it.

“No, only _sestra_ is like mirror.” She corrected Bart, and began to walk away. Then she stopped, and turned back. “You want pancakes?”

“Yeah, pancakes, sure.” Bart shrugged, she thought nonchalantly. Pancakes. Like, cakes, but you made them in a pan, or whatever? “Pancakes are okay.”

The sniper nodded.

“There is place near here, sells pancakes all night long. Come on.”

**Author's Note:**

> You know Helena would offer someone pancakes to apologise for offending them.


End file.
